Eternal Sleep
by leopharry
Summary: Contains major spoilers. Watari discovers what L must do to win.


**A/N:** Hello, readers. Another Death Note short. This takes place over the course (mostly the very beginning and five minutes from the end) of episode twenty-five, and contains **MEGA** spoilers if you haven't gotten there yet. I highly recommend that you wait until after you've seen it to read this, because it'll ruin everything for you.

Other than that, I've got very little to say about this. Just that I woke up way too early this morning and was thinking about Death Note, opened my word processor and let the vomit spew. Then I went back to bed, and when I woke up for the second time, realized that it was complete garbage, but that the idea was nice. So I went to the document and fixed pretty much all of it. And was left with this.

So, try to enjoy it. -hands you tissues- (Haha, no, I'm kidding. It's not _that _terribly sad. I'm not that good. xD)

* * *

Even though my room is hidden in the building, I suddenly felt like I was being watched. Itching to give my room a three-sixty with the old peepers for safety's sake (the Shinigami _could_ float through walls, after all), I turned and was strangely not surprised to see L—er, Ryuzaki—standing in the doorway. Besides the Shinigami, who occasionally came by to visit, Ryuzaki was the only other one who knew where my room was.

But he looked strange. His usually hunched back looked more hunched than ever, and he wouldn't meet my gaze. His hair was unnaturally limp, and he looked miserable. "Ryuzaki? Is something the matter? What is it?" I turned completely in my chair to face him. "Hm? What's wrong?"

He was silent for a long time. About a minute later, he walked back towards the door, but instead of leaving, he shut it and sat (or should I say crouched?) against it like he might the back of a chair. I didn't return to my work, knowing that whatever this was, it was serious.

"Am I good?" He asked me. His voice, normally tight, quick and biting, today sounded bleak. Maybe even hopeless.

His question confused me. "Good at what?" I asked, wondering what had happened to make him take such a hit in his self-esteem. Even insults from Misa-Misa (who he had sincerely idolized in the past, right up until he became aware that she was the second Kira) couldn't make him feel poorly about himself. The only thing that depressed him was when he had a problem with his cases.

"Just... good." He explained, not helping any.

I decided to try to help as best I could. "Well, you're certainly good at your job. You're good at learning—you are exceedingly bright, as you have always been. You're very creative and logical. You're great at chess—the only person in the world who has ever won a game against me." I gave him a proud smile, but his face remained just as silent as ever. "You're good at being secretive. You're good at capoeira." This elicited a very small, very brief smile, but it made me feel better knowing he was capable of being complimented. "You have a great sense of justice, and are very smart and practical about whom you trust with what information." I turned my chair to face him head on. "Does that help any?"

"While I'm flattered that you think so highly of me, Watari, I'm very sorry to say that it didn't." He sighed. "I guess I should elaborate, then, shouldn't I?" He asked rhetorically. He took a deep breath, and met my gaze. "We've been working on this case for months now, Watari. I've done many stupid things and I've made so many stupid mistakes. Now, in order for me to win, I know what I have to do..." He trailed off and broke eye contact again. "But..."

I waited patiently. "But?"

He looked as if he were at odds with himself. I could see it in his eyes; one part was fighting to keep the secret, be distant, don't let emotions overpower sense—just like I taught him. But the other was truly tired of it; tired of not being able to rely on anybody, tired of not trusting. Tired of being alone.

The latter side won out, and he took a deep breath and, as if ripping off a bandage, said, "But I'm scared."

I must say, this statement shocked me more than almost anything I'd ever heard, and I've heard many strange things. The almost childlike way he spoke, soft and with just a hint of a whine, conveying more emotion in that instant than he had in almost seventeen years, concerned me. "Scared? Whatever of?"

He met my eyes again, and again I was surprised, but this time, more surprised at myself. His eyes betrayed him, and how I hadn't noticed before was a serious lapse in my judgment. It was obvious, now that I knew; the way they looked slightly glazed over as if he were keeping his eyes from watering. The way they were constantly moving, looking from me to the screens behind me. The way he blinked—only twice, but still, a major step for him.

And suddenly, his question earlier made sense. He didn't want to know if he was good at his job—he knew that already; you don't get to be the world's top three detectives without having any skill at all. He wanted to know if he was a good _person_.

I stood up and walked over to him. He looked at me in alarm, as if my ability to walk was new. I crouched down, my position similar to his, and I put my hand on his shoulder. I glanced at the screens again to make sure the Shinigami weren't around before turning back and looking at him, saying, "L Lawliet, if there is anybody in this world who is a good person, you are."

He searched my eyes for any sign of doubt. I waited patiently for him to see the full conviction with which I had spoken. I meant every word of that sentence; he was a better person than almost anybody I had ever met, even better than me. Sure, he lied, and sure he cheated, and he definitely stole, and many people had been given the death sentence because of him, but everybody lied. Everybody cheated. If those were the rules by which people were good, then nobody was good. I truly, honestly believed that.

Then it all clicked. Why he wanted to know so badly if he was a good person. Why he hadn't wanted to tell me. Why he told me anyways. Why he was afraid. What he was afraid of.

Death.

He was going to die. This is how he would win; he would die. Both Mello and Near would take over, and, working together, would solve the case. No, not solve the case; Ryuzaki had already done that. They would find the evidence necessary to prove Light guilty. Because he couldn't. Not on his own.

I tried my hardest not to let the shock show on my face but, since he had been looking at me anyways, he saw the brief flash of insight before I pushed it away to dwell on after he left. "Watari? What's wrong?"

I smiled. "Nothing, dear boy. I just realized something about one of the cases I'm solving as Coil." I lied flawlessly. He nodded, believing me. Or, if he didn't, aware that I was lying to him for a reason; he knew that I would never lie to him just for the sake of deceiving him.

He nodded, and stood. "Right." His back, so absurdly hunched before, hunched significantly less now. I smiled just slightly. He had believed me about being a good person, and I was very relieved. I didn't know when he was going to die, and I suspected he didn't either, but we both knew it was going to happen, and soon. I wanted to make sure his last few days (or even hours, but I shuddered slightly at the thought) were happy. If something so insubstantial as the status of his soul made him happy, then I would gladly be the one to give it to him.

He opened the door, waved, and said, "I'll see you later, Watari."

"Good day, Ryuzaki." I waited, watching him meander down the hallways on the screen until he was back in the common room with the others. I saw them ask where he had been, and he told them that he was in his bedroom, changing his clothes. They seemed to believe him, and they went back to what they were doing before.

I started to tremble. How much longer would this go on? How much more time did he have? It hurt me to think that this boy, my son, would soon be dead, and by _choice_. His sense of justice was so consuming he would rather die than give up. I gripped the edge of the table firmly; my knuckles went pink, and then, slowly, turned white. I gasped for breath, seemingly unable to take any. If it weren't for the fact that it was almost impossible (I was the picture of health despite my age), I would have suspected I was having a heart attack.

But at the same time, it felt like I had no heart at all; or, to be more accurate, like it had been stolen from my chest, only to be replaced with a lead weight. Covered in spikes, tearing up my lungs. Maybe that was why I couldn't breathe.

It seemed almost ironic to me that the highest injustice against L was that he would have to die to the one criminal he couldn't catch. Ironic in the 'it was a fatal mistake' kind of way, the ironic way that isn't at all funny.

I saw, in my reflection in one of the screens that was turned off, tears falling from my eyes, but I didn't feel them. I brushed them away impatiently. There was no need for tears now. This was what had to happen. I would bury my son and get on with the case. That's what he wanted. That's what he needed. And I was his father; I wouldn't be doing my job properly if I didn't give him everything he wanted.

Still, as Watari, I had a job to do. He'd given me instructions yesterday, to ascertain the use of the notebook, and nothing could prevent me from working for him. Nothing except...

* * *

Once I'd gotten the approval, I sent the microphone connection and he accepted. He knew what this meant. "Watari, excellent work. Thank you." He said, sitting down in his chair. I had tried to be brief on the phone, knowing that he was talking with Light Yagami. I wasn't sure of his true feelings towards Light. I had always thought he was being insincere with Yagami, but then, witnessing what I just did, I couldn't be sure anymore.

"Not at all." I replied warmly. '_It's the least I could do. You're going to die. It's the least I could do._'

"First things first," he said blankly. "Please make arrangements to transport the notebook immediately."

"Right." I said quickly. I didn't listen to the following conversation, thinking more of what he'd told me earlier—or, rather, hadn't. It was an injustice to humankind that he should die. People didn't know it, but with L dead, they were doomed. The spiky lead weight grew, making my whole chest ache with sadness for humanity. For myself. For him.

I had just opened my email when suddenly, something in the far right security screen caught my eye. It was the Shinigami. I think her name was Rem. She had something in her hands. I looked closer...

And then I felt my heart stop. My eyes widened and I gasped. I fell out of my chair. I didn't know it would hurt this way; it felt similar to the spiky lead weight from before, only without the sadness. This time, I was happy. I would die first. I felt that only fair; I was his father, after all. I shouldn't have to bury him. And now, I wouldn't have to mourn his death, either. I wasn't sure where I was going, but at least I would be with him. We would be together. I heard him call to me, and I remembered that I had left my microphone on. '_My poor boy,_' I thought suddenly, gasping. '_He has to hear all this._'

And then, I remembered that I had to protect Roger's sons too. I had to keep Kira away from the knowledge of the fledgling Ls. Reaching up slowly, even though I felt so much pain, I pressed the button behind my keyboard, erasing the memory of all the computers. L's panicked, guilty face disappeared.

'_Goodbye, son,_' I thought faintly, my vision tunneling out, my eyes overflowing with tears. '_I am **so** proud of you._' I was floating. I was weightless. There was nothing that could tether me to this earth. I wondered in the back of my mind why people couldn't feel like this all the time. It wasn't so bad, this dying. I hoped he would feel like this, too.

My last conscious thought before closing my eyes for my final, eternal sleep was, '_I'll see you soon._'


End file.
